


Collared Brat

by MistressPandora



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Arguing about dumb things, BDSM, Bratty sub!Brian, Brianna/Roger (mentioned), But also Brianna, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom!John, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender swapped Brianna, Impact Play, M/M, Modern AU, Road Trip, Spanking, They're twins because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora
Summary: John Grey breaks road trip rule #1 and Brian gives him hell for it.
Relationships: Lord John Grey/Brian Randall
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	Collared Brat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iihappydaysii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/gifts).



> For Ash, who said he could use something lighthearted. Here, have some spicy gay. <3

"You have got to be kidding me," Brian muttered. There was absolutely no way that John was coming out of the 7-11 empty handed. Who _does_ that? Okay, so Brian hadn't specifically asked for a Slurpee, fine. He must have done the environmentally conscious thing and shoved everything in his coat pockets. Yeah, that was it. Had to be.

Except John came back to the car, opened the back driver side door, tossed his coat into the backseat, and then slid into the driver's seat. Brian just stared at his boyfriend while he buckled his seat belt. John blew out a breath and shot Brian half a smile. "On the road, then?"

"Yep." Okay, sometimes John was scatterbrained. Brian reached into the backseat and stretched until he got ahold of John's coat and dragged it into his lap.

"If you're cold, just turn the air down," John said, adjusting the temperature as he merged into traffic bound for the interstate. 

Brian rifled through the pockets of John's coat, finding only a wadded up fuel receipt and his phone, which Brian popped into the cradle on the dash.

"Thanks," John said. "What are you looking for?"

Brian sighed, shook his head, and tossed the coat into the backseat again. "We're not off to a good start, John."

Concern flashed over John's face. "What? What's wrong?"

"We stopped at 7-11. Who goes into a 7-11 and comes out empty-handed?"

The concern gave way to confusion. "I just ran in to get my receipt and wash my hands. They smelled like petrol." John shot a glance over his shoulder to check his blind spot, then pulled into the left lane to pass a tractor trailer.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. "But you still went _in._ To a _7-11_. I get that the Big Gulp isn't your thing. And that's fine, I won't judge you for that. But, babe, seriously? Not even a regular sized bag of peanut M&Ms? Where's the jerky, John?" 

John laughed, then looked at Brian's incredibly serious face and cleared his throat. "I… That is… Brian, it's only a three hour drive. We won't even have to stop to fill up again and we'll get there in time for lunch at that place you like."

"But that's not the point! Is this or is it not a road trip?"

"Well, I suppose so," John conceded.

Brian crossed his arms over his chest. "That's right, it is. And what's the first rule of road trips?"

John screwed his gorgeous face up into a sour lemon expression of deep thought. "Gas, grass, or ass, no one rides for—"

"Snacks!" Brian slumped back into the passenger seat as dramatically as he could without clotheslining himself on the seatbelt. "The first pit stop on a road trip _must_ result in snacks! And! You stopped at 7-11, which is like road trip snack central."

"I'm sorry, darling, I didn't realize you were hungry." 

"I'm not, but that isn't the point." Brian knew he was pouting at this point, but damn. Seriously, even Jamie knew that road trips start with snacks. He plugged his phone into the auxiliary cable and started scrolling through Spotify.

"Would you like me to stop again?" John asked quietly.

Brian heaved a sigh. "No, there's not an exit for a while. Don't worry about it." Normally, his road trip go-to playlist would be one hit wonders and nostalgic rock, but he just wasn't feeling Chumbawumba. 

Ah, Kelly Clarkson. Perfect. The opening piano refrain of "Because of You," eased their way through the speakers, and Brian reached over to crank up the volume.

John shook his head. "Are you serious right now?"

Brian gestured to his ear. "Can't hear you, babe. _Because of you, I never strayed too far from the sidewalk_." He belted it at the top of his lungs, and John actually startled and gave him a surprised look. Brian would not be deterred. _"Because of you, I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt."_

"You're being quite ridiculous, you know," John shouted.

"Still can't hear you! _Because of you, I try my hardest just to forget everything!"_

Fifty some-odd miles later, Brian had exhausted all the pop and rock break-up songs he could think of and switched to country. _Go and fix your make up, girl. It's just a break up, run and hide your crazy, and start acting like a lady cause I—_

The sound of John's ringtone interrupted Miranda, the screen showing Brianna's name. 

John furrowed his brow but seemed relieved to have a break from the angst cranked well above eleven. He tapped the screen to answer with his Bluetooth connection. "Hi, Brianna, is everything—'

"What. Did. You. _Do?"_ Brianna's furious voice poured from the car's speakers and John flinched, turning down the volume. Brian’s twin sister was older than him by about eight minutes but she took those eight minutes very seriously. She had a protective streak a mile wide and was as scary as their father when she got pissed. She was pissed. Brian bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Pardon?" John said, looking genuinely confused. "We're on the road, we'll be there with plenty of time before the rehearsal dinner—"

"Screw the rehearsal dinner." Bree interrupted John. "My brother's relationship status says 'It's complicated.' So I'll ask you one more time: what in the name of fuck did you do?"

John shot Brian a death glare before returning his attention to the interstate. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "I can't imagine why he would do that, but I can assure you—"

"Shut up. Brian, are you there?" 

"Hey, Sis." It was so damn hard not to laugh, but Brian held strong.

Brianna's tone lost a great deal of its edge. "Are you okay? What happened?"

John glared at him and Brian choked back a laugh, snorting instead. "Lover's spat. We just don't see eye to eye some things."

"But you're okay?" 

John looked about ready to spit nails and shook his head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable," he muttered.

"Yeah, I think so," Brian answered. "How are you? You're the one getting married tomorrow. And Roger, has he lost his mind yet?"

Brianna chuckled. "I'm fine. Roger is more nervous than I am. Da is an actual wreck though. You might need to bring him a flask or something to get through the night. If he doesn't chill out, I think Mom's going to kill him."

Brian made a mental note to have John stop at a liquor store when they got to town. "Got it. Don't worry about me, we're alright. I'll see you soon."

"Okay," Bree said. "Love you. John?"

"Yes?" John sounded like he struggled to keep from adding "ma'am." 

"Watch yourself. Drive safe, guys." And then she hung up, yielding the speakers to Beyoncé. 

_If you like it then you should've put a ring on it_.

John switched off the radio and glared at Brian. "Are you serious?"

Brian couldn't hold a straight face anymore, and he threw his head back against the headrest, laughing. "You're in so much trouble!"

“You _changed_ your _relationship status?_ Over beef jerky?”

“Look, you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of road trip snacks they choose,” Brian said, counting his points off on his fingers. “Beef jerky means you’re probably not worried about how much the gas costs. Hot fries means you’re an older millennial and late-nineties boy bands or alternative will abound. Candy, classic rock or yacht bops. Chips or other savory crunchy goodies? Current top forty and you have no idea who Casey Kasem was, maybe some contemporary lady rockers if you’re cultured. If it’s trail mix, it’s anyone’s fucking guess. But no snacks, John? No snacks means you’re a psychopath! Does my father know you’re a serial killer? You probably don’t break apart your Kitkat bars either, do you?”

“Dear God in fucking Heaven, Brian, I said I was sorry!”

Brian leaned forward and cranked up the air conditioning. They were in that weird limbo where it was slightly nippy outside but the sun was bright so the inside of the car was warm. Autumn in New England was weird. “It’s fine. We’ll be there soon enough. You can try to redeem yourself on the way home Sunday.” He’d turned the air up too high and it was getting chilly. Rather than turn it down, he grabbed John’s coat from the backseat and wrapped up in it. 

John reached for the AC and Brian slapped his hand away. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being strategic,” Brian said, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window. John’s coat smelled like him, comforting and warm and wonderful, a trace of cologne on the collar. “Because if it’s cold in here, I won’t bleed out so fast when you try to murder me. Psycho.”

“Oh, it is such a long way to Boston,” John muttered with a sigh.

Brian wasn’t really asleep, but as soon as he realized they were twenty minutes out from the hotel, he started playing possum. John had turned the air down at some point, so it was only stubbornness that kept Brian from dripping with sweat under his coat. John didn’t even reclaim it when he went inside to check into the hotel. Brian snuck a hasty glance at John when he came back to the car, then clamped his eyes shut again before he got caught. John had that politely pissed off look on his face that he wore whenever he was mad about one thing and dealing with something totally separate. Guilt flipped Brian’s stomach. Damn it. He’d really been teasing of course, but he’d apparently taken it too far. 

John reparked the car then turned it off. He just sat there and Brian felt the weight of John’s gaze burning a hole into his skull. Feeling all kinds of sheepish, Brian sat up straight and dropped the coat off his shoulders. Cool air hit his arms and dear God it felt good. He risked a glance at John, regretted it, and focused on a white thread in the leg of his jeans.

The silence stretched on. At last John asked, “What’s around your neck, Brian?” His voice was cool and calm and rather terrifying.

Without meaning to, Brian lifted his hand to his throat and traced the silver chain and the lock-shaped pendant dangling from the center of it. “Your collar, Sir.”

“That’s right. Have you been my good boy, or have you been a brat?” 

If Brian met John’s eyes, he’d spontaneously combust and ruin the leather seat. “I’ve been a brat, Sir.”

“Yes you have,” John agreed. “And do I make a habit of collaring brats?”

“No, Sir.”

“That is correct, I do not. Do you think this is the kind of attitude you should take to your sister’s wedding rehearsal?”

Brian shook his head. “No, Sir.”

“Eyes on me, please, Brian.”

Brian met John’s eyes, felt the full weight of his dominant stare, and swallowed hard. He fell through a dizzying array of emotions, from shame, to remorse, to hot excitement. Okay, so John wasn’t actually _angry_ at him, but there were sure to be consequences for his behavior. Sexy, sexy consequences.

“Now, we have exactly two hours before we need to leave for the rehearsal.” John handed Brian a keycard. “Room three twenty-seven. Take a bag inside and strip. Kneel by the bed and wait for your instructions. Start adjusting your attitude now or you’re going to end up having dinner with your family with blue balls, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

John popped open the trunk of the car and nodded. “Go.”

Brian scrambled out of the car, snatched up a bag from the trunk, and high-tailed it to the elevator. This wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking when he’d started teasing John, but he couldn’t have said he was upset about it. It had really just started as a joke that had gotten incredibly out of hand. Maybe he would benefit from that attitude adjustment after all. Alone on the elevator, Brian thought of the last time John had punished him and he had to adjust himself in his jeans.

Room three twenty-seven. The electronic lock whirred and turned a welcoming green, and Brian pushed the door open. He left the duffle bag on a chair and hastily stripped out of his clothes, leaving them neatly over the back of the same chair. It was a nice room for just a few nights. A king sized bed took up most of the room, draped in deceptively plush white linens, everything else decorated in the ultra-modern tones of brown and green that seemed to be a hallmark of reasonably-priced business class hotels. 

Brian took a pillow from the bed and dropped it on the floor on the far side from the door, then sank to his bare knees on it. He fiddled with the collar around his neck while he waited for John. Half a dozen excuses for his attitude swirled around in his mind, all of them blaming someone else, and Brian shoved them out of his head. They were all useless and wildly off base. Sure, there was stress about this weekend. Weddings were stressful. Family was stressful, no matter how much he loved them. He realized his jaw was sore from clenching it and stretched it out until it popped. 

Oh yeah, he was stressed to the max. And he’d taken it out on John. Whoops.

The door whirred and John came through with the other bag, still looking stern. He didn’t say a thing, just set the little suitcase down on the luggage stand, took off his shoes and watch, setting it on the dresser along with the big sapphire ring he wore on his right hand. Brian couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, staring at the way John’s shirt stretched across his strong shoulders. Holy hell, he was hot. Brian knew this, of course. But damn. John was already that objectively stunning kind of attractive. But the way he carried himself with confidence and authority was just decadent icing on the fantastic cake.

John sat on the edge of the bed facing Brian and looked him up and down, his pale blue eyes cutting clear through him. How the hell someone patted their thigh was authority, Brian had no idea, but John did it. “Over my knee, please.”

Brian meant to say, “Yes, Sir,” but his mouth was dry and he couldn’t make the words come out. All he could do was silently comply, the material of John’s well-worn jeans soft against the skin of his stomach, his dick hard against John’s leg as Brian laid himself across his lap.

The first smack of John’s hand against Brian’s naked ass took his breath away. John usually worked him up to the really painful spanks, but apparently he was going for efficiency, because _Jesus_. Brian gasped and bit down on a shout, which came out as a harsh grunt through his tightly compressed lips. 

“What do we say?” John prompted.

“Thank you, Sir,” Brian gasped.

John hummed with a skeptical kind of approval and spanked him again, hard and stinging.

Brian gasped and whimpered. “Thank you, Sir.”

It continued, John’s hand crashing against Brian’s bare ass over and over, until tears stood in his eyes and then fell just so the pain had somewhere to go. Without thinking, Brian rutted against John’s leg, moaning at the friction that was so good but not remotely enough.

John swatted him hard. He spanked like he meant it. “Stop that. You’ll come when I say so.”

“Oh God,” Brian squeaked out, forcing himself to hold still. “Thank you. Sir.”

Three more hard swats had Brian a trembling mess, clinging tight to John’s ankle with one hand and the comforter with the other. Then John’s touch changed, turned warm and sweet and nice. “Is that better?” he asked, caressing Brian’s abused ass cheeks and petting his hair. 

Brian nodded, slumped rather pitifully over John’s legs. “Yes. Thank you, Sir.”

“There’s my good boy,” John said and gave Brian’s hip a gentle pat. “On the bed then, lying on your stomach, please.”

With John’s steadying hand, Brian rose from his position across John’s lap and stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto it with a groan, ass burning pleasantly from the beating. He dragged a pillow under his damp face and turned to watch John undress. 

John was methodical about it, like with so many things. It was a little like watching a ritual, but Brian figured that was how he compensated for the total walking disaster that he really was. Wherever Brian had been headed with that line of thought was obliterated when John came back to the bed, a bottle of lube in his hand. John pressed sweet kisses to the sorest parts of Brian’s ass, and then one lube-slicked finger slipped inside of him. A second followed it, working him open. 

It didn’t take long to loosen him up. Then Brian was empty and John was yanking him up onto his knees and sinking into him, until Brian’s sore ass was flush against John’s warm flesh. “Fuck, yes,” Brian gasped as John filled him.

Punishments always got them both hot and bothered, and John took Brian hard and fast. John pounded into him, the pace brutal and wonderful, and reached around Brian to wrap his still slick hand around his cock. It didn’t take long, and John’s wrecked, desperate voice behind Brian said, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

“John,” Brian moaned, his pleasure pouring out of him and over John’s hand. 

John was right behind him, clutching Brian tight against his chest and coming deep inside of him.

They collapsed onto the bed, Brian landing directly in his own puddle and not caring at all. John wrapped him up tight in his arms and threw a leg over him for good measure. He buried his face in Brian’s hair, catching his breath and coming back down. Brian was boneless, his ass thoroughly used and abused and mind clear and empty. Oh yeah, he needed that. And he said so.

John pressed a kiss to the top of Brian’s head. “I know you did. Are we better now?”

Brian nodded against John’s chest, humming an affirmative. John’s arms were safe and warm and full of love, and Brian yawned just because he was so very relaxed now.

“Would you like the first shower?” John asked. 

“Nah-uh. We’ll both fit.”

John’s laugh rumbled under his breastbone. “That hardly seems conducive to getting ready to go to your sister’s wedding rehearsal.”

“Well, no. But I’m not done touching you yet, so there.”

“Alright then, come on.” John loosened his grip and nudged Brian toward the edge of the bed.

Brian climbed to his feet, hissing at the pain in his ass. “Think anyone will notice if I don’t actually sit at all?”

“Yes, definitely,” John said, steering Brian toward the bathroom. He grabbed a handful of Brian’s sore ass cheek and squeezed until Brian whimpered. “But watching you squirm all evening and knowing why is going to drive me wild, so I hope you’ll be up for more later.”

“Hmm, yes, Sir,” Brian purred.

“There’s my very good boy.”


End file.
